


Binding

by ErinPtah



Series: The Pronoun Ninja Diaries [1]
Category: Fake News FPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Trans, Comfort, M/M, Secret Relationship, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:11:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/pseuds/ErinPtah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standalone ficlet. After getting <a href="http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/91153/august-08-2007/wrist-watch---fighting-back">the cast on his wrist</a>, Stephen needs a little help with his morning routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Binding

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in mid-2007, and is the only story in this continuity. Other works in the series are AUs, not sequels.

There's a terrific clatter coming from the bathroom: scuffling, muttered curses, the occasional thunk of plaster or porcelain. Jon waits for a lull in the noise, then calls through the door: "All right in there?"

"I'm _fine_ , Jon," comes the snapped reply.

Stephen has insisted on doing everything himself since getting the cast, and for the most part he's managed, if a bit more slowly and sloppily than usual. But there's a car coming in twenty minutes to take him to a charity event, and he never puts up with looking less than perfect when there's a photo op involved. So Jon waits in the hall, just in case.

It isn't long before there's a strangled outburst of frustration from inside. The cry dissolves into silence, followed a moment later by a hesitant "Are you still there?"

"Still here," echoes Jon. "Anything I can do, just say the word."

There's a rattle at the handle, then Stephen pulls the door open.

The contrast is immediate. Below the waist he's fully armored, from leather belt to black socks; his upper body, meanwhile, is bare except for the cast. Which means his shoulders are instinctively hunched, though Jon is one of the few people who's seen his bare chest.

"Fix this," he mutters, using his good hand to thrust a crumpled Ace bandage in Jon's direction.

"Sure."

Stephen leaves the door at an angle while Jon sets about the business of laboriously unsticking bits of puckered fabric from each other. "Where are my pills?" he mutters, rummaging through the medicine cabinet over the sink.

"I've got 'em," answers Jon, not looking up — partly out of respect for Stephen's insecurities (this whole experience has been a real eye-opener; Jon had vastly underestimated how kinky you can get while your boyfriend is mostly clothed) and partly because he can't take his eyes off the bandage without having it start sticking to itself again. "You only get one every three hours, you know that."

"Except in emergencies! And this is an emergency. It _hurts!_ "

"Do you want to stay home? I'm sure they'll understand if you call in sick...."

"I'm not skipping this," grumbles Stephen. "How will everyone know how generous I am if I don't get photographs to prove it? Aren't you done yet?"

Jon winds the last of the fabric into a neat little roll and holds it out. "How's this?"

Stephen stares intently at the offering, nostrils flaring, lips pursed. For a moment Jon wonders if he's somehow done it wrong; then Stephen shoves the door the rest of the way open with his heel and beckons Jon with his head. "Come on."

He takes a seat on the closed toilet, resting his cast gingerly on the countertop. Jon follows, stopping just short of the shirts and tie hanging at the ready on the bar of the shower.

"I could do this with one hand tied behind my back if I wanted," Stephen reminds him. "And I would, if I had the time."

"I understand."

Jon knows there's no point in offering to get him a nicer binder. Stephen's been doing this the cheap way for a good twenty years, and nothing short of an order carved on stone tablets is going to convince him to change his methods now.

"Just press the end down — here." Stephen touches the top of his sternum, right under the clavicles, then guides Jon's willing hand to the place. "Now hold."

If Jon had any suspicions that Stephen was overselling his proficiency, they don't last long. Working mostly one-handed, he unspools the bandage and wraps it around himself in such quick, efficient strips that it's less than a minute before he brushes Jon away and reaches for his undershirt.

"Anything else I can help with?" asks Jon, as Stephen slips into enough layers of coverage that only a very well-informed or very suspicious observer would guess there was anything to be covered.

"Yes." Stephen sticks out his arms. He grits his teeth while Jon fastens his cufflinks, even though Jon's taking extra care to be gentle around the cast. "And you could get me another pill."

The man looks so miserable that Jon starts to weaken.

"Do you really think it's wise?" he protests anyway, retrieving Stephen's tie from the towel bar while Stephen buttons up his shirt with slow, determined movements. "We don't know how it'll mess with your hormones, and especially if you're going to be on camera...."

Stephen doesn't answer, but his eyebrows carve a dark furrow low on his forehead, the way they do when his common sense is winning the internal battle in spite of his best efforts.

"Tell you what," offers Jon, looping the tie around Stephen's neck before surrendering the ends of the fabric into Stephen's hands. "You make it through this, and when you get home we'll set you up with a cold drink and your latest box set of _The Sopranos_ , and if you're still feeling lousy we'll call the doctor and ask about upping your dosage. How does that sound?"

Stephen pulls the knot tight with a flourish, then twists the tip of the tie hopefully between his fingers. "Can you make me an ice cream sundae while you're at it?"

Jon laughs, partly out of relief: Stephen can't be feeling too bad. "Slow down there, my friend. I need to keep something back to reward you for making it through next week's shows."

The pout forming on the other man's face is stopped in its tracks when a car horn beeps impatiently outside.

Stephen bolts from the bathroom, scrambling to pull on his shoes and jacket one-handed. As with any force of nature, Jon figures the safest course is to stay out of the way. He can't go out to the front room, though; Stephen won't want the driver to see that someone spent the night.

So he's standing on the threshold of the bathroom when a fully clothed Stephen sweeps down the hall, then comes to an abrupt halt a few steps past him.

"Jon?" he stammers, without turning around. "If I got...something else...done at the hospital — I mean, an operation that involved more, well, attention than just doling out painkillers and keeping my wrist dry — if, hypothetically speaking, I wanted something like that — could you...I mean, would you still...."

"...get you ice cream?" suggests Jon softly. "Sure. Or whatever else you needed."

Stephen bounces uncertainly on the balls of his feet a couple of times, then abruptly spins on his heel and flashes Jon his most charming grin. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but the world isn't going to change itself. See you in a couple of hours. Make sure you have that drink ready!"


End file.
